Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Another One Bites The Dust


            I took a beginning journalism class my freshman year in college, and one of the assignments that stuck with me was one where we were told to write our own obituaries. I was halfway through composing a gripping, yet touching story of my own gruesome demise, when my teacher added “Now, don’t get cute.”  What’s that supposed to mean?! This story was anything but cute…Since then, I’ve put a lot of serious thought into how I would prefer to die. I’m not morbid, but it’s something interesting to think about. Some people would like to die a quiet, painless death at an old age. I think I’d prefer to go out with a bang, which brings me to my final decision. When my time comes, I want to get eaten by a Tyrannosaurus Rex…in space. This, I think, is the coolest possible way to die.

In a way, I’ve been planning this since I was four years old. I was OBSESSED with dinosaurs, to the point where I cried and tore my best friend apart with my vicious four-year-old rhetoric when she knocked the head off my T-Rex piƱata at my birthday party. That curly-haired, flat-nosed, frilly-dress-wearing dinosaur murderer didn’t stand a chance. Moral of the story? Dinosaurs trump friends. Everytime. I asked my mom to buy me a new Barbie doll, not because I wanted to give her makeovers and dress her all pretty-like, but because my toy dinosaurs were hungry. Dinosaurs were my life.

T-Rex Food
            I had already decided that I wanted to be a paleontologist when I grew up (Yes, I could totally say that word at the age of four). Why? Well, because I’d seen Jurassic Park, that’s why. I was thoroughly convinced that THAT was the life of a paleontologist: run around on Isna Sorna and avoid getting eaten by ferocious scaly beasts. I was crushed when I found out that in reality, paleontologists have kind of a sucky job. This discovery was devastating for me, because at the age of 9, I had to change my entire life’s plan. So inconvenient. How will I ever make a name for myself in this cruel world? That’s when I decided that if I can’t accomplish anything of note, I might as well die in the most memorable way possible.

Oh, but my plans don’t stop there. After my untimely demise, I plan to put the “fun” in funeral. I strongly believe that my funeral should be a reflection of my life, so I planned it all out. There will be space and dinosaur decorations, carnival rides, costumes. Oh, and I want them to play “Another One Bites The Dust!” The point is that when I’m gone, I don’t want people to be sad. I want them to celebrate who I was, and this way, my loved ones won’t know whether to laugh or cry. They will be confused and entertained. Yes, yes. Those are my plans. And after all is said and done, I will go down in history as the girl who died by space T-Rex. Someday, somehow.




Thursday, December 22, 2011

"Easy" Bake?

            Oh, hi there! Where am I? What is this place? A blog? My blog, you say? Oh yeah…I do have a blog…And I do write in it sometimes. Just not in December, I guess. Well, we’ll just have to fix this, won’t we? I apologize to all two of my readers for my little disappearing act. I’ve just been working like a slave so that I’ll be able to feed myself next semester at school, no big. But enough about me…It’s almost Christmas!!!

            If you can’t tell, I’m so freakin’ excited. SO FREAKIN’ EXCITED! I love Christmas with all my soul. I mean, yes, all the holly jolly Christmas music is truly awful and a bit overkill. But what I love about Christmas is that it brings back so many great childhood memories like making cookies with my mom or playing in the snow with my dad, and attempting to build the tallest, mightiest snowman our small apartment complex had ever seen. Christmas was a magical time for me growing up, and it still is, but for different reasons. For instance, now I realize exactly how much crap my parents had to go through to make Christmas morning perfect…and how unappreciative I was in return. When I was little, if my sister and I broke a toy, my mom would scream: “Do you have ANY idea how much that cost?!” To which I would smile innocently and reply in a sing-songy voice: “Nothing! ‘Cuz Santa got it for me.” Santa got ALL the credit. I’m sure my mom wanted to spill the beans right then and there, forever ruining Christmas for me. But no, she let me maintain my childhood delusions, even if I was a spoiled brat. Christmas used to be about Santa and presents and treats. Now, it’s about the time I get to spend with the people I love most.

Fred the Snowman--Winter 2010

            Now, there’s one thing that completely baffles me about Christmas, and that is the kind of presents I used to ask Santa for as a kid. One year, I wanted a Betty Spaghetti. Why? Beats me. I guess I really liked bending my dolls into impossible “yoga” positions. Another year I wanted a Baby Alive doll. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it the whole point of a fake baby that you don’t have to feed or change it? Just sayin’. Oh, and don’t even get me started on Furbies. Those things are so creepy, and I’m thankful my parents never actually got me one. It probably would have revolted and killed me in my sleep. The one thing I asked for every single year, though, was an Easy Bake Oven. I begged my parent year after year to get me one, and when they didn’t budge I begged Santa. When I finally got my Easy Bake Oven, I jumped around and squealed like any little girl would. I was so excited, but that excitement faded as I spent a good four hours on Christmas morning trying to bake a tiny brownie with my nifty new toy. What I didn’t take into account in hoping for this gift was that I suck at cooking, and I have the attention span of a squirrel. I ran off and played with all my other toys, and when I came back, my brownie was charcoal. My Easy Bake Oven taught me that I’m no Betty Crocker. Remember when I said I used to make cookies with my mom? I actually meant I watched her bake cookies while I ate all the cookie dough. Truth is, I can’t bake to save my life. Seriously, if one day some diabolical mastermind held a gun to my head and told me to make toast, I’d be toast. But, you’ve got to admit, it must take SOME skill to scorch a brownie with a 40 watt light bulb…

Monday, November 28, 2011

The Despondency Experiment

Remember the gummy bears. ;)

            Okay, I’m just going to come out and say it. My life is awesome, especially when I’m here at home. I don’t have any sort of impending deadlines for school assignments or social dilemmas to sort through. All relaxation, no stress. Except that’s the problem. My problem is that I have NO PROBLEMS. I feel like bursting into a chorus of “It’s Too Heavenly Here,” like Charlie from All Dogs Go to Heaven 2. Basically, I’m going insane…I mean, I actually watched All Dogs Go to Heaven 2, if that’s any indication.

Even when I’m at school, though, I feel like I live a charmed life. Nothing ever goes wrong for me. Ever. I always get the classes I want exactly when I want to take them. No matter how short my attention span, my teachers always love me. I get straight A’s, and everything is easy. Let’s face it. I’m good at school. And life. I’m so good, in fact, that I feel the need to procrastinate absolutely all responsibilities until the last possible second. For dramatic effect, of course. One time, I forgot to take my Advanced Writing final online before it closed. I e-mailed my professor in a panic, and he told me not to worry about it and that he’d send me the link to the final right away. Why? Because I ate gummy bears for breakfast in his class every morning, and I shared them with him. “I remember the gummy bears,” he wrote in his return e-mail, and he even included a picture of the world’s largest gummy bear, for my entertainment. That is solid proof that gummy bears for breakfast everyday can save your life.



Anyway, back to the problem. When life is too easy, where’s the fun in that? No one wants to read a story about someone with a perfect life. Good stories are about trouble, which is why I feel an obligation to the future readers of my best-selling autobiography to occasionally shake things up a bit. I thought long and hard about this, and I said to myself “Hm…I wonder what sad feels like?” So, I resolved to pretend to be depressed for a few days, just to see if I could pull it off. I planned to spend my days wallowing in self-pity, listening to whiny emo music, sighing and looking out windows at the dark, cruel world beyond, and generally playing the part of the poor, unfortunate soul in a sad, sad movie. That’s right, if the sun shines wrong, I would be the first to complain. Except, I found out that being sad is not all it’s cracked up to be. Actually, it’s kind of a downer. If you’re going to try out an emotion just for the heck of it, don’t pick depression. Why? Because it will suck you in like a black hole, that’s why. The second you start to feel sorry for yourself because you spilled scalding hot coffee on your left hand at work and now your skin is starting to fall off, making you look like you have leprosy, life will give you infinitely more reasons to feel less than awesome. So, I decided that I like having very little to worry about, and I’ll save the tempests and rainclouds for the characters in my future best-selling novels.  

Through this experiment, I realized that self-pity is a sentiment that I am simply not capable of. Who am I kidding? I was born to be a shiny, happy person. People ask me how I can be happy all the time. Here’s how. No matter what life throws at me, I only allow myself seven minutes of sadness, and then I laugh it off, make fun of my problems. Because life is too short to be depressed. I lied before. My life isn’t perfect, but I love it anyway. J


Thursday, November 24, 2011

Attitude of Gratitude


            So…Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I am so very thankful to all the people who read my blog (all two of you) and give me the attention I so desperately crave. I’d like to be serious for a moment (just a moment) and sincerely express how incredibly thankful I am for everyone and everything I have been blessed with. I’m thankful for my family, my friends, and everyone who has touched my life. I’m thankful for my opportunities, and I’m thankful for my trials and my difficulties. They have made me strong and shaped who I am today, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. This year has been especially difficult for me, and sometimes it’s easy to forget all the good things I have. Even though Thanksgiving is the day set aside for us to count our blessings, I believe that it is important to make gratitude an important part of our lives every day of the year. Imagine how much happier people would be if they focused on what makes their lives great instead of incessantly obsessing over what’s missing. President Thomas S. Monson once said: “My brothers and sisters, to express gratitude is gracious and honorable, to enact gratitude is generous and noble, but to live with gratitude ever in our hearts is to touch heaven.” I love T-Money. He always knows what to say.

            Serious moment over. I am currently sprawled out on my couch dying from overexposure to yummy food. My eyes tell me “Yes, more food. MORE FOOD!” Meanwhile, my stomach is yelling “No, NOOO! Stop, you pig! I can’t take it anymore!” Yup…Thanksgiving is a good day. No worries. I’ll work it off tomorrow while I’m Black Friday shopping. Confession: I love Black Friday, even though I maintain that it is an extremely unflattering reflection of our society. We’ve all seen the Black Friday commercials every store has put out two weeks in advance. There’s that crazed Target lady, who is “training” for her ultimate day of shopping madness. Then there’s that incredibly annoying, retarded lady from Kohl’s belting out her own rendition of Rebecca Black’s “Friday.” Gosh, I hate that one. I just think it’s incredibly shallow that only one day after Thanksgiving, when we express our sincere gratitude for the things we have, we have Black Friday, where we set out in search of the things we want. It seems to void the purpose of Thanksgiving, if you ask me. It’s kind of ridiculous how that works…But hey. I like shopping. So, I’ll stop complaining.



            Here’s an interesting thought. The turkey ALMOST became our national symbol, instead of the bald eagle. Benjamin Franklin was a resolute supporter of the turkey, describing the bald eagle as lousy bird of bad moral character. He goes on describe how the eagle is too lazy to hunt for his own fish, chasing down the hawk and taking the fish from him. I think I agree with Franklin on this one. The turkey is an original native of America, fiercely defending his territory whenever necessary. Those things are kind of scary when they’re mad at you. Unfortunately, the eagle kind of fits, as well. I mean, it’s a cutthroat world out there. We’ve got dogs eating dogs, fish munching fish, and eagles stealing fish from hawks. But just imagine…if the turkey was our national symbol. We would not be allowed to eat turkey on Thanksgiving…Would we eat eagle instead? The things I think about when I’m quickly spiraling into a food-induced coma. Anyway…Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Have fun gorging yourselves. I love you all!


Monday, November 14, 2011

Guess What?!


            When I tell people I’m an English major, they have the same reaction almost every time. 3-2-1…”So, are you looking to be an English teacher?” Of, course. Because that is the ONLY thing you could possibly do with an English degree. This drives me insane. No, my life’s dream is not to teach. I have no interest in instructing people over and over and over again that “there,” “they’re,” and “their” are three different words and they are NOT interchangeable. Don’t get me wrong. I have mad respect for English teachers mainly because I myself don’t possess the patience or the willpower to teach. I mean, why should anyone else be as smart as me? However, I absolutely love it when people pay attention to and understand the rules of the English language. So, I thank all English teachers for doing what I cannot and educating the general population.
            
           Another reaction I get when people find out I’m an English major is when people suddenly get super self-conscious about everything that comes out of their mouths for fear of being corrected. Now, I’m not a grammar Nazi. It’s not my job to correct you. That’s your English teacher’s job, thank goodness. However, I appreciate proper grammar, and I WILL notice if you make a mistake. I took a grammar class in college, and sometimes I diagram peoples’ sentences in my head while they’re talking instead of listening to them. It’s a curse, and I’m not proud of it. I won’t vocally correct you though. I make grammatical errors while speaking too. I know it even when I’m making them, and I absolutely hate it when people point them out. It’s scary how defensive some people get over language, so I’d rather just avoid confrontation. There are some things though, not just grammatical, that will make the English major in me cringe.

1. I’m a little OCD about punctuation, I’ll admit. But without it, I believe wholeheartedly that the English language would begin a rapid descent into anarchy. Punctuation clarifies what we are trying to say and how we are trying to say it. There is a crucial difference between “Let’s eat, grandma!” and “Let’s eat grandma!” I think grandma would agree.

2. “Should of?” Really? I don’t think I need to say more. It’s “should HAVE.”

3. Um…Words that sound the same don’t always mean the same thing…If you pay attention, you only have to learn the difference between your and you’re; its and it’s; and there, they’re, and their once. And I will love you for it.

4. Please remember that pronouns refer to the nouns that are closest to them. Actually, these mistakes can be really funny, so feel free to keep making them for my entertainment. Ex: “I went jogging with my dog and my grandma, but we had to cut it short because she attacked the mailman.” Now, most people would automatically assume it was the dog that attacked the mailman, but I don’t like to rule out potentially hilarious possibilities…

5. Okay, this isn’t a grammatical error, but it drives me nuts anyway. People always say “I could care less” when they wish to convey indifference. But if you think about it…this saying doesn’t make any sense at all in context. If they really could care less, then why don’t they? Wouldn’t you say that you “couldn’t care less,” which is to say, you don’t care at all and therefore could not care less. Maybe it’s just me thinking too much...

6. Again, this isn’t a grammatical error, but it’s a custom in the English language that I don’t understand. When people have exciting news, they always begin with “Oh my gosh, guess what?!” To which I will unfailingly reply “Do I have to guess?”

7. Then there’s the common typo. These can be funny, but they can also be very annoying, especially when you’ve worked so hard to sound smart in the first place. For example:

          
           Well, there you have it. The Seven Deadly Sins of the English Language, according to Melissa Turner. But don’t worry. If you commit any one of these crimes, I’ll forgive you immediately. No repentance necessary. But I reserve the right to chuckle inwardly at your transgressions. What can I say? I’m a nice person. But anyway…I just blogged about grammar, and I now feel like a genuine English nerd. I’m going to go do something with my life.

Sentence Diagramming...
Would you like to know what else goes on inside my head?

 

 

Monday, November 7, 2011

Plus-Sized Skinny Jeans?

            To the large middle-aged man in Wal-mart walking around in skinny jeans,
I think you may have exceeded the limits of your pants…by just a hair.
Sincerely, girl who now wishes she were blind.        

            I have recently been inspired to write about something I view as a serious problem in our society: the use and misuse of skinny jeans. Let’s face it. Only a fraction of the world’s population can pull it off. And that does NOT include guys. If you are a guy and you wear skinny jeans, you BETTER be holding a gun or hunting velociraptors or otherwise doing something incredibly manly for every second of your life. Now, I’m not trying to be mean, but it’s just not okay. If I were a blind person, by all means, wear whatever pleases you. Except I’m not blind, and if I happen to glance at you and see something I will never be able to un-see, then we have a problem. Do the sighted world a favor…Please. Wear what fits you. I can promise that you’ll feel better about yourself, people around you will be more comfortable, and you won’t lose circulation in your legs…I give such great advice, huh? You’re welcome. :)  


Friday, November 4, 2011

What A Girl Wants?...That Guy.



My favorite chick flicks are He’s Just Not That Into You, How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days, and John Tucker Must Die. What does that tell you? I hate chick flicks…Hate them with all my soul. Scary movies and thrillers are more my speed. Why? Well there’s a perfectly logical explanation for this. Chick flicks make me sad about my life…especially when they have happy endings. Scary movies always leave me feeling better about my life…especially when they have horrible and disturbing endings because no matter how bad it gets, I know my life will never be THAT bad…Hopefully. Chick flicks don’t do us any favors, people. They give us unrealistic expectations. People don’t fall in love like that. It just doesn’t happen. Hate to break it to you, girls. Chivalry and fairytales are dead…Not because they are no longer possible, but because we have learned to lower our expectations. They’ve been replaced with awkward situations, disappointments, lost opportunities, and not being able to say what you need to say when you need to say it. The movies make it look so easy when in real life, love is a royal pain.

            So, you’re probably asking where this rant is coming from? Well, this morning, against my better judgement, I was watching What A Girl Wants. I think the title of this movie is funny because if you ask Amanda Bynes what a girl (her character) wants, she’d say that she wants to find her birth father in England and hopefully fit in with the royal society. But for me, this movie is all about Oliver James. That’s right, I just undermined the entire plot. If you ask me what a girl wants, I will say “him” without hesitation. I mean, look at him. He’s super attractive, has a British accent, drives a motorcycle, sings/plays guitar, and he’s SENSITIVE. In my experience, guys aren’t like that ever. I mean, seriously, are you ever going to meet a guy who will look you in the eyes and ask you “Why are you trying so hard to fit in when you were born to stand out?” Really.

 I don’t mean to be super negative, but that’s just how I see it. Chick flicks will give you that warm, fuzzy feeling when you’re living vicariously through the main character, but once the end credits are rolling to the tune of a love song, you come to the realization that that will never happen. So I’m going to stick with scary movies. Because as the end credits are rolling to the tune of a smashing piano, I will come to the conclusion that if I never watch a cursed video tape with nightmarish images on it, Samara will not crawl out of her well and through my TV to end my life. Just something to think about…


Monday, October 31, 2011

The Grinch of Halloween

Halloween is a cool holiday. I mean, it’s the only day in the entire year where it’s acceptable to dress up like a crazy person, visit random houses, and demand candy. Kudos to the 4-year-old dressed as a cute little pumpkin soliciting candy from the crazed-looking man with a butcher’s knife sticking out of his head. That kid has my respect. Seriously.

Sadly, Halloween becomes less fun as you get older. Why? Because I have to work, that’s why. I STILL go trick-or-treating every year, and if I didn’t have to work guess what I’d be doing tonight? It’s okay for me ‘cuz if I dress right, I can pass for 13. Since I can’t participate in the festivities this year, I am now the Grinch of Halloween. When I get home, I’m going to sit in front of the TV watching scary movies while slowly devouring a big bowl of candy. And no, I’m not sharing. I’m just going to leave a bowl outside with a sign that says “take one.” Only, here’s the tricky part. I’m only putting two pieces in. I figure the first kid will take two, and—Oops! We’re out of candy. Sorry, kids. You snooze, you lose. :P Happy Halloween, suckas!


Saturday, October 22, 2011

Elmo Loves You!


            Probably the wisest question a guy can ask on a first date is this: What are your pet peeves? I say this is wise because it gives us girls an opportunity to go on and on about all of the petty little things in life that bother us while giving the boy an opportunity to be self-conscious for the rest of the night. Here’s an example:
Boy: “So, what are your pet peeves?”
Girl: “Hm…Where to start?...Slouching, gum-chewing, nail-biting, knuckle-cracking, nose-picking, fidgeting, texting, chewing with your mouth open, chewing with your mouth closed, blinking, talking, breathing, and asking questions.”
Boy: …*head explodes*
Okay, probably not so wise, but it’s a good conversation starter and vastly entertaining. Usually when a boy asks me this, I try to save him the anxiety attack by listing things that are completely irrelevant to our relationship. For example:
Boy: “So, what are your pet peeves?”
Me: “Hm…Where to start?...Mexicans, ducks, ventriloquist dummies, peace signs, lawn gnomes, country music, and the color yellow.”
Boy: “…You’re weird.”
Unless he’s a Mexican, a ventriloquist, a hippie, or a country music fan, he’ll have nothing to stress out about.

             I do, however, have actual pet peeves that would deem a guy undatable. Only four things, and here they are:
1. The “Forrest Gump accent.” You know, like the southern accent mixed with…slowness? Is it politically correct to say that? Here’s the thing. I had a mean roommate for two semesters who talked like that. It drove me nuts. And I’m pretty sure it was a fake accent. So, now whenever I hear it I want to shank someone with a ballpoint pen. Just sayin.’ But enough of that.

2. Another pet peeve I have is when people who crave attention make up ridiculous stories about themselves to get attention. This is not the right way to get attention, people! That goes for you too, one-uppers! If I tell you I just barely learned how to juggle (which I can’t do, but that would be really cool), I DON’T want to hear about how you spent six years as a clown in the travelling circus. If I tell you I used to play basketball (again, just an example, not true), I don’t want you to tell me how you used to play in the NBA. It’s just too far-fetched and totally not believable.  

3. Self-appointed nicknames are also a no-no. It’s okay if you do something really cool to deserve that nickname, and SOMEONE ELSE gives it to you, but if you made it up yourself it will NEVER catch on.

4. My biggest pet-peeve, though, is when people refer to themselves in the third person. It’s incredibly self-centered, and I don’t care who the heck you think you are, you will sound incredibly stupid. I’m pretty sure the only person/creature on the entire planet who can pull this off is Elmo. "Elmo loves you! Elmo loves his goldfish! Elmo loves to color!" Elmo is a very loving creature, which is why he alone can pull this off.

             I’m a pretty laid-back person though, and not many things bother me too much. Like my list of non-threatening pet peeves, these four things don’t come up too often, and I’m willing to overlook things I don’t like if a person is actually really nice and genuine. But for entertainment’s sake I’m posting this video of a man who breaks all but the “Forrest Gump” rule. That’s right. He tells outlandish stories WHILE referring to himself in the third person BY a self-appointed nickname. Excuse the language. The opportunity was just too good to pass up! You might know him from Survivor: Tocantins, Heroes vs. Villians, and South Pacific. Introducing...Benjamin “Coach” Wade!




Wednesday, October 19, 2011

I've Lost My Sheep!


Okay, so I’ve been thinking a lot recently, and I came to a totally expected and completely non-surprising conclusion: Boys and girls think very differently. I was observing my brothers in their natural habitat, which is to say in the man-cave playing Call of Duty, when I realized this. My brothers are way into guns and hunting and stuff like that, and they have to know absolutely everything about guns. It drives me nuts sometimes ‘cuz they’re always asking me questions I would NEVER have the answers to and telling me stuff I will NEVER have to know. Then I thought: “I never asked questions when I was younger. I just made stuff up and assumed I was right.” Still do.  

For example, when I picked up a big red apple at the grocery store, my mom told me we didn’t want those ones (because they were too expensive). Along comes a frail old lady, who picks up one of the apples, and I panicked. I stood up in the cart and screamed at the poor woman at the top of my lungs: “Don’t buy that apple! Don’t you know how Snow White DIED?!?!” I’m pretty sure she was scared for her life. Similar experience with my preschool teacher when I stopped her in the hall and told her she would die from drinking coffee. But probably the best experience happened when I was in the first grade. When I was little I was taught that alcohol was bad for you. So, naturally I assumed that all of the world’s problems were caused by beer and such. To the surprise of my first grade teacher, I decided to write a poem about it. Here’s a little bit of it:

 Little Bo Peep had lost her sheep
Well, DUH!
That’s what happens when you get drunk.

 There is a reason I don’t write poetry often, but I sincerely hope my poetry has gotten better since then. Seriously, that didn’t even rhyme. But the point is…I have no idea what possessed my six-year-old mind to believe that this harmless nursery rhyme was actually a stand against alcohol. I just always accepted it as fact. Little Bo Peep was a raging alcoholic. Now, to this day, whenever I do something stupid, my family will ask me if I’ve lost my sheep.

            Since I’d like to believe I’m not the only crazy person out there making outlandish assumptions about life, I’m going to generalize and say that all girls think this way to some degree. Girls like to pick apart situations and speculate. Guys like to deal in facts. But guys, remember this. Girls are always right. Even when we’re wrong, we’re right. In the wise words of Captain Jack Sparrow, “A gentleman allows a lady to maintain her fictions.” J

 PS: Disregard the title of this post. I’m not actually drunk.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Stupid Lizard-Thing...

You know that mind-blowing experience you get when you watch a movie you didn’t quite understand as a kid, but then suddenly you understand it due to the wisdom that comes with age?! Well, I was watching The Lion King today…And let me tell you. There are sooo many things I missed. For example, I JUST realized that one of the hyenas is a GIRL. What’s up with that?! Also, I realized that this movie is a knock-off of Hamlet. Congratulations, Shakespeare. Hamlet has been turned into a Disney movie…Except we’re gonna add lions, a deranged monkey, and a few musical numbers and probably leave out the whole “to be or not to be” dilemma. But the part that really got to me was the stampede scene.

So Simba is just chillin’ on this rock in the middle of nowhere, practicing his roar like his Uncle Scar told him to. He kinda half-roars/half snarls at this poor lizard-thing and scares the bejesus out of it, so it runs away. Then comes the herd of crazed antelope speeding down the gorge. Here’s the thing though. I thought for years that the whole stampede happened because the lizard-thing was upset with Simba, so he magically summoned the antelope to come and run over Mufasa. Stupid lizard thing…It’s HIS fault Mufasa’s dead. Never mind the fact that the antelope were being chased by three hungry hyenas. By the way, if a herd of antelope can kill a freakin’ lion, why in the world were they running from three hyenas?! Just sayin’…This scene threw off the whole movie for me because I missed the fact that Scar was the real bad guy… I thought it was the lizard-thing. So naturally, I had no idea why Simba came back to kill Scar at the end. But you know the great thing about being a kid is? None of that mattered. I still loved the movie because the lion fights were cool!
 If you haven’t seen the Lion King, I’ve officially spoiled it for you.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Here I Am! Looove Me. ;)

Oh, hello...I’m Melissa…Turner. And I’ve started a blog. I don’t know why exactly this feels like an awkward introduction to a total stranger ‘cuz I’m actually kinda talking to myself. I can’t imagine who else would be reading this besides maybe my mom. But, oh well. I like to rant about random things in my head, and my therapist thinks a blog would be a good outlet for that. Well, I’m sure that’s what my therapist would say if I had one. Here’s the thing. I’m a writer. And I’m bored. There are too many thoughts bouncing around in my head everyday, and if they stay there my head might explode, which would be neither attractive nor ideal. So…As much as you might think I’m writing this for you…I’m not. This is for me.

I’m a 20-year-old English major, studying at Brigham Young UniversityIdaho. Currently, I’m chillin’ at home in Minnesota. I love camping, fishing, baseball, dating, music, video games, dinosaurs, and eating things I shouldn’t at 3 in the morning. I hate spiders, chick flicks, and ventriloquist dummies. But enough of that. You will get a taste of who I am soon enough.


Until then! ;D